Highlander's Sword

by Amanda Forester

  Presently, a nervous ghillie returned. The lady was not coming, Graham was informed. If Graham wanted to see her, he would have to come himself. Graham's response was extreme, even for a short tempered man. Bellowing, he hurled his large frame to his lady's quarters, cursing across the bailey and yelling even louder from the pain in his leg with every step up the tower stairs. His reaction gained him much attention from his clan, and many waited around the base of the tower, anxious to hear what he would do to his lady.

  "Leave us!" Graham thundered to Lady Graham's maids as he barged into the room, knocking over two delicate tables. The maids were gone before the furni ture hit the floor. "Ye've gone too far this time, madam. I swear ye'll regret yer disrespect to yer master."

  Moira Graham stared at him from her high-backed chair. She was pale but met his gaze, defiant to the end. "What have I done, my lord, to be rewarded with such venom?"

  "What have ye done? Ye sent Aila to the convent, did ye no'? Ye tried to have the marriage annulled!"

  "Aye," said Moira, her eyes flashing. "I've taken care o' our daughter, even if ye could no' be bothered wi' the task."

  "Och, ye've taken care o' her t'be sure," Graham snarled back, pounding over to her and glaring down. "I arranged her marriage with MacLaren to protect Dundaff, to protect all o' us from starvation. 'Tis McNab burning the fields, trying to get me to give him Aila, ye ken? But I forged an alliance with MacLaren to protect us from that bastard McNab so we can have enough grain to feed the clan." Graham grabbed his wife by her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. "Now Aila's gone, kidnapped, thanks to ye," shouted Graham, shaking his wife. It was too much for Lady Graham, whose feet could find no purchase, and she fell into her angered husband, taking them both to the floor. Both Laird and Lady Graham yelled out in anger and pain, giving the castle dwellers below much to discuss.

  "Damnation, woman!" Graham hollered as he reached for her hands to drag her back up. Something felt wrong. He held up her hands to the light, revealing the bony disfigurement. It had a chilling effect on his anger. He held her hands for a long time, saying nothing. Lady Graham closed her eyes and waited.

  "Yer feet, too?"

  Lady Graham nodded.

  "How long?"

  Moira opened her eyes and stared at him before answering, "Fifteen years." She blinked away tears and her lips trembled for an instant until she pressed them into a thin line.

  "Why did ye hide it from me?"

  "I'd rather no' face yer disinterest or yer pity," said Moira, snatching back her hands. "Where be my daughter?"

  Graham shook his head. "I dinna ken. I believed ye locked yerself up here because ye were displeased wi' me. Were ye?"

  This time Moira shook her head. "Why did ye no' tell me about McNab and MacLaren?"

  "Why did ye no' tell me about yer hands?"

  Husband and wife sat in silence on the floor, looking at each other as if for the first time. Indeed, it was the first time they had been in the same room for many years. Graham reached out to take her hand and persisted in his task even when she tried to pull away. Pressing the gnarled fist to his lips, he kissed the back of her hand then her wrist.

  "Ye were a fool to think this little thing would make me displeased wi' ye."

  Moira's eyes shone. Graham tried to stand but struggled with his injury.

  "It still pains ye?" asked Moira softly.

  "Aye, lass," said Graham, managing to get back into the chair and hauling his wife up into his lap. "A fine pair we are. Ah, but ye're still the beauty I married." Lady Graham returned the compliment with a smile that lit her face.

  Those who waited below had a long time to wonder what was happening between their laird and lady. Just as some were suggesting they send a sacrificial lamb to check if the two still lived, Graham appeared, looking surprisingly happy for a man who had confronted his demon wife. Thus, the laird and his lady obligingly provided much conversation in all quarters.

  Sixteen

  SENGA WAS NOT BEING HELPFUL. AILA STRIPPED THE bed and made her preparations, while Senga hovered, questioned, and protested. Aila remained steadfast in her determination, and Senga became even more panicked.

  "But, m'lady, ye canna try to escape. If they catch ye, they'll beat ye for sure and me, too." Senga's words were chilling, but Aila was determined.

  "I dinna intend to be caught."

  "But m'lady…," whined Senga as Aila tied the sheets and blankets together to craft a makeshift rope. "What are we going to do wi' that?"

  "We're going out the window."

  "Och, nay, m'lady. We'll ne'er fit."

  The window slit was rather tiny. Aila stood tall and threw back her shoulders to bolster her courage. She wished Senga was a little less discouraging. The maid was harping on Aila's own fears and doubts. Yet a brief thought of her experience with McNab the night before and what would be her certain fate if she did not escape now led Aila to act with more courage than she felt.

  "I dinna care if I have to strip naked and grease

  myself wi' lard, I'm getting through that window," said Aila with determination.

  "Aye, m'lady." Senga pouted.

  "Now I'll tie off this rope, if ye can move the table next to the window." Aila turned to tie the rope to the bed, when a tremendous crash caused her to jump with surprise. The maid had somehow managed to knock over both the table and chair, sending them clattering to the floor. To make matters worse, Senga shrieked at what she had done.

  "Wheesht!" hushed Aila, listening for movement below. Though McNab's men had caroused late into the night, she felt sure no one could sleep through that racket. She waited in silence for footsteps to come to the door. Fortunately, she had underestimated the amount and effect of the drink consumed. She released her breath and continued her work.

  Satisfied with the arrangements, Aila turned to her maid with shades of doubt. "I'll go first to see if it can be done. If ye wish, ye may try to follow, but I release ye from all obligation to me. Do what be right for ye, wi' my blessing."

  That said, Aila placed the table in front the window, the chair on the table, and stood on them. Saying a quick prayer, she grasped the rope and squeezed out of the window. It was a tight fit, but she was slender and managed to get her head free. Turning sideways, she freed her shoulders. She wrapped the makeshift rope around her hands still pinned in the window shaft and slowly wriggled out of the small opening. Yet as more of her body was freed, there was going to be a problem. She was slipping down the rope facing downward. She hoped she would not fall and break her head, but since there was no turning around at this point, she struggled to free her hips.

  Her joy in her success of doing so was tempered by her gown falling down over her head. One of her mother's more colorful curses flitted through her mind. If her skirt was over her head, it was not covering what it ought, as a cool breeze across her backside made shockingly evident. She sincerely hoped no one would see her as she hung, bottom-up, outside her window.

  Despite the utterly unladylike position, she continued to hang there for a moment, wondering how to extricate her legs and flip around without killing herself. Deciding there was nothing else to do but try, she pulled one leg free and blushed fiercely beneath her skirt at her indecent pose, hanging upside down, legs akimbo. She quickly pulled her other leg free and then shrieked in spite of herself as she suddenly flipped over, slid down the blanket rope, and landed with a loud "Ow!" on her rump.

  Once again she froze, sure that McNab's men would come running any second. Instead, loud snoring came from the nearby window. Moving aside, Senga wriggled out the window and flipped down the rope with a good deal more grace and dignity than Aila had managed. Aila's first impulse was to run into the thick brush and hide, but she could not leave him. She could not leave Shadow behind.

  "I'm going to get us some horses," Aila whispered to her maid. "Ye stay hidden."

  "Nay," said Senga a little too loudly. "I'll help."

  I was afraid of that.

>   They snuck toward the stables. Entering the wooden structure, Aila was surprised by a young milkmaid finishing her chores and carrying milk back to her mistress. Aila froze, not knowing if the girl would sound the alarm, but the young maid merely curtseyed and continued to lug her pail back to the inn.

  Aila found Shadow covered with a large blue and red decorative caparison. She did not bother to take off the large horse blanket before throwing on his saddle. She wanted to be gone. It was past dawn, and though McNab was still sleeping off his drink, the rest of the small hamlet was up with the sun, going about their daily routine. She considered asking for help, but she did not know where these people's loyalties lay, so she decided it would be best to leave as quickly and quietly as possible.

  Aila finished saddling Shadow and found that Senga had done nothing to saddle a horse of her own. Aila did it for her, growing more anxious every minute they remained in the village. Without warning, a long line of horses ran behind her and thundered from the barn, Senga chasing them out the doors.

  "What are ye doing?" Aila cried.

  "Now McNab's men will have to find their horses afore they can catch us."

  "But now the villagers will surely wake McNab to tell him about his horses, and he will ken we're gone." Even now, Aila could hear the shouts of the villagers as they tried to catch the fleeing horses. "We must fly!"

  Aila ran to mount her horse and bolted from the stables, her maid close behind. Any lead they might have gained through stealth had been eliminated, and Aila prayed it would take a while to round up all the horses. They had very little time for escape. Shadow pulled against the reins, but she held him back, waiting for her maid to catch up. Even in this dire situation, the fastest speed Senga could muster was a loping trot. On Shadow Aila could easily outdistance McNab, but that would mean leaving the maid behind. Despite the risk, she could not do it. She stopped and trotted back to Senga.

  "Here, give me your reins. We'll go faster that way." Senga complained but complied. Aila grabbed the reins and gave a good yank, urging Shadow forward. Shadow and the maid's mount took off at a gallop. She could have gone faster alone, but Aila smiled as they raced, happy to finally be putting distance between herself and McNab.

  MacLaren was making progress. After some difficulty, the tracks became deeper in the muddy ground. They mounted and followed the trail through the dense forest at a quick pace. Breaking through the trees, they came to a bluff overlooking the valley below just as the sun chased away the dense fog. MacLaren could discern the small village of Kimlet in the distance and two figures trotting toward them on the main path out of town.

  Reaching a clearing, one of the figures turned her head into the sunlight. MacLaren drew a sharp breath. It was Aila. His wife and another woman were going for what looked like a leisurely stroll. He held onto the reins with a death grip and watched his wife stop, take the reins of the other woman's horse, and gallop up the sloping hill toward them. His fear of Aila being kidnapped was replaced with fear of her complicity into her own disappearance. No one looked at MacLaren.

  "I'll retrieve the Lady Aila," said Warwick in his low, gravelly voice.

  "Nay, she's my wife. I'll do it," said MacLaren. Since she was headed toward them, it wouldn't be difficult to abduct the woman back to Dundaff. Damned miserable excuse for a wife. Perhaps he'd drag her back to the nunnery and demand an annulment himself.

  He dismounted and hid in the brush, motioning the men to do the same. No sense giving her an oppor tunity to escape again. He climbed a low tree branch and waited for her to reach him. She was moving with speed now, and he would have to jump quickly. Flying through the air, he knocked Aila clear from her mount, and she landed on her stomach in the mud. Despite his anger, he was careful not to crush her and hauled her up to her feet. Without warning, she spun around, smacking MacLaren on the jaw with her closed fist.

  "Ow!" said MacLaren.

  "Oh!" said Aila.

  "You left yourself open for that one," said Chaumont. He caught the horses' reins, gentled the spooked animals, and handed the maid down.

  "I dinna expect her to hit me," complained MacLaren.

  "I imagine she didn't expect you to knock her from her horse," returned Chaumont.

  "Then she shoud'na have run away."

  "I dinna run away," protested Aila, trying unsuc cessfully to wrench from MacLaren's grip on her arm. "Well, I did, but then I was kidnapped and—"

  "Ye look mighty free to me," interrupted MacLaren.

  "I was escaping, and I need to tell ye—"

  "Looked more like an easy stroll."

  "Pray, sir, if ye will listen to me."

  "I've no need for a woman's lying tongue," MacLaren bit out, his anger barely restrained.

  Aila gasped. "But I need to tell ye that—"

  "McNab's men are approaching!" came the shout from Warwick.

  "That's what I was trying to—" But MacLaren wasn't listening and shoved her toward several of his men.

  "Take her back and watch her close. Dinna let her escape again." Without looking back, MacLaren and Chaumont ran into the dense forest to meet their enemy.

  MacLaren chased after McNab's men, but on their own land, they had the advantage and hid well, attacking suddenly with stealth and then disappearing back into the forest. Hours passed playing this frus trating game and McNab was nowhere to be seen. MacLaren's uncertainty of his enemy's location gave him cause for concern. He moved Aila's hiding place several times, not wanting her to be able to return to McNab but also not wanting her to be too far out of sight. He left his own men to guard her and her maid. He trusted no one else, least of all his wife.

  At midday, MacLaren returned to their resting place and watched Aila from afar. The hunt for McNab had so far been unsuccessful. There had been some minor skirmishes but no significant engagements. MacLaren continued to watch Aila surreptitiously and then cursed himself for doing it. He had too many other concerns, like keeping himself and his men alive, to be worried over a traitorous female.

  "I have a job for ye, my friend," MacLaren said to Chaumont. "We are dangerously close to the border tween my land and McNab's. We left Creag an Turic wi' scant defenses. I would be obliged if ye would take Toby and Rorke and check on the welfare o' the clan. I would be grieved to find they had been attacked whilst I chased shadows in the trees."

  "Certainly, I will see to their welfare and report back directly."

  "Be sure to see to the safety o' Lady Patrick." MacLaren felt a particular burden to see to the welfare of his cousin's widow.

  Chaumont nodded with a smile. Chaumont also treated Mary with particular regard, though MacLaren doubted his motives were the same.

  "And I'd like ye to take this to the Lady Patrick. 'Tis her portion o' the rents." MacLaren held out a bag of coin. When Chaumont just stared at it, MacLaren took Chaumont's hand, stuffed the bag into his palm, and turned to walk away.

  "Wait!" called Chaumont. "I thought you weren't collecting rents this year."

  "I'm not. But that doesna mean Mary is no' due her share."

  Chaumont shrugged and was gone. MacLaren went back to watching Aila, all the while pretending he was not watching Aila. Aggravating lass. What on earth was he going to do with her? Several charming ideas slid into his head, most of them involving little to no clothing. She was a deceiving wench, treacherous to the core, but his cock didn't seem to mind at all.

  Seventeen

  MARY PATRICK TENDED THE FIRE OVER WHICH MUTTON was roasting on a stake. It had been three seasons since the return of her laird, MacLaren, and the sword of her husband. It hung now on the wall, a silent and daily reminder James Patrick would never return. Somehow the news had not been unexpected. Jamie had been the love of her life, yet his memory had faded over the five years he had been gone. She accepted that she would never again set eyes on her husband. She also could not help but notice that although MacLaren was generous to her family, he avoided all talk of his deceased cousin and seemed to go out
of his way to avoid her. The clan's preferential yet awkward treat ment of her had given rise to new questions, and shadows of doubt crept into her mind.

  A knock on the door made Mary jump up from her stool and chased away her musings. Smoothing her apron with her hands, she opened the door to find Chaumont smiling down at her. The French knight's arrival with MacLaren last year had caused quite a stir within the clan. He was a tall, trim knight, impeccably dressed in a blue silk doublet over a tailored linen shirt. His brown woolen hose fit snugly on his legs, leaving no doubt as to his muscular physique. A dirk, sheathed in an ornately engraved case, hung at his side. All this Mary noticed with a glance, but she was captivated by his face. His light brown hair was trimmed short, and his deep blue eyes twinkled merrily. Mary looked up at his square jaw, long nose, and chiseled features that were handsome almost to the point of being bonnie. He was different than any man she had ever seen in the Highlands.